


Where Hide Answers

by Maple



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen, Quote Challenge Response
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-24
Updated: 2011-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-17 05:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maple/pseuds/Maple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young researcher goes to an old researcher to ask a question about a terrible secret, but is he ready for the answers he finds?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Hide Answers

**Author's Note:**

> Violence mentioned, but not shown.
> 
> Written for a quote challenge where the quote (slightly modified in this case) is used in the story. Quote: "There aren't a dozen men still alive in the world who have ever seen this symbol. Its use was forbidden more than a hundred years ago." Death By Prophecy by Lauren Maddison.

"What kind of trouble are you stirring up?" Malcolm Longshant, Head Archivist, peered through his thick glasses at the young researcher that stood before him.

The young researcher shrugged. "No trouble. I just came across a reference in one of the journals and thought I should follow up."

"Hmph," said Malcolm. "These sorts of things should be left alone." He stomped forward anyway, leaning heavily on his cane. "Go digging where you shouldn't and the next thing you know *you're* the one getting buried back down with the things you shouldn't have been digging up in the first place."

The young researcher hurried to keep up with him, having been caught off guard when he started to move. Malcolm liked that. Young kids, not paying attention. "Well, I was just *curious*," he tried to explain. "And I thought that you would know. You were in research for years before I was. You know *everything* ."

Malcolm didn't smile at that, but it was a near thing. He stopped and eyed the young researcher. God, they caught them young these days. This one looked barely out of his nappies. Here he was digging down to the dirtiest dirt the Organization had. "Not everything," he said, and tried not to sound pleased. "But nearly enough so." He started stomping along again. "We'll have to go down to the Restricted Archives. How's your clearance, boy?"

"Fine."

"Of course." Malcolm didn't believe for a second that this wet behind the ears kid had enough clearance to pour himself a cup of coffee in the main headquarters, but so what? No one had come asking questions about this particular topic in a long time, and what would they do to old Malcolm Longshant anyway if they caught him giving up useless old secrets? Kill him? Ha! Malcolm would be glad not to have to spend the money on the bullet himself. His health was deteriorating faster than a hot air balloon caught on a wire. Pretty soon all Malcolm's secrets would go to the grave with him. Better to get them out now. Maybe not all, because some secrets were meant for the grave and the grave alone. But a few of them deserved to see the light of day again. This one certainly did.

They stomped along to a room deep in the hidden reserves and Malcolm pressed his palm to the reader outside the door, keyed in the code, and swiped his card in the reader. "Come on," he grumbled.

The young researched quietly did as he was told.

Malcolm glanced at the boxes on the shelves. It had been a while since he'd come down here. Things were getting dusty. Secrets like these…well, it wasn't as if you could have *cleaning personnel* down here swabbing the floors. "Ah," he said, seeing the very box he wanted. "This is it." He glared at the kid. "You ready? Once you learn something you can't unlearn it."

The young researcher nodded, composed.

"Help me with this, then." Malcolm pointed to the box. "That one."

The young researcher took it off the shelf and put it on the floor. Malcolm handed him his key and the young researcherd unlocked the metal box, flipping the lid open, and stared at the items inside. "What are they?" He reached in and pulled one out. "They look like…."

"Like Watcher symbols," Malcolm supplied. "They do, indeed. Look a little closer, boy."

The young researcher ran his fingers over the tarnished metal symbol, so corroded that it was impossible to tell what type of metal it might have been made out of. "I don't understand. It's…sort of an M. See? The sides of the stylized W curve back down. Here and here." He pointed out how the tips of the W bent back along the sides, meshing into the normal circular sides. "It's such a small change. What does this have to do with what I found? It was only a slight mention--I thought perhaps a Watcher had befriended the Immortal," he glanced guiltily up at Malcolm, "Methos," he whispered, as if he shouldn't mention which Immortal he was in charge of finding.

"Hmph." Malcolm took the symbol out of the young researcher's hands. "It was a secret symbol. No one noticed it unless they were looking for it specifically, allowing them to hide in plain sight in the Organization. "

"Hide?"

"Look, boy. There aren't a dozen men still alive in the world who have ever seen this symbol. Its use was forbidden nearly a hundred years ago." Malcolm stared hard at the boy, willing him to understand what he was trying to tell him. "They *infiltrated* us," he said.

"No--"

"Yes! Whether they were here first and then turned traitor, or tricked their way inside, no one ever found out. But they did find out they were here. We still don't know how long. How many decades. Helping your subject. Maybe." Malcolm fiddled with his cane. "Do you think he's still alive?"

"You should ask first, is he real?" The young researcher looked thoughtful. "Hard to tell. I personally think Methos is a composite--a dozen or more Immortals making up one fairytale Immortal. He's an archetype. A made up thing. He's their equivalent of Rumplestiltskin, or Paul Bunyan, or what have you. I think, at least," he added sheepishly. "It's a theory I've been working on, anyway."

"Hmph." Malcolm leaned more heavily on his cane. "But you're still *looking* for him as if he's real."

"Sure. That's the job. I could be wrong, you know. Maybe he is real." The young researcher took back the metal symbol. "This is real. A symbol. So they could know each other, so they could help him survive. Do you think they knew who he was?"

"Maybe."

The young researcher was quiet for a moment, then asked, "What happened to them?"

Something in his tone made Malcolm straighten his spine. This, *this*, was the real question. What happened to the Watchers who met an Immortal, face to face. Became a friend. Helped them out. Betrayed the Organization. Was this young researcher thinking of trying it? Every once in a while someone did. It was hushed up quickly, of course, the Organization wanted it to seem as if everyone adhered without a doubt to their code. No interference. The wayward ones were steered elsewhere, given different assignments, lackluster career paths, labeled dangerous, and watched themselves. If they were lucky. Otherwise. Well, otherwise things went badly.

"Reprimanded, every single one of them," he told the young researcher. "Ferreted out. Found out. Rounded up."

The young researcher was loosing color even as Malcolm continued.

"Held for months. Years. Interrogated. If any of them spoke, it didn't make the records down here. In any case, they never turned out who it was they were helping. I have no proof, but I think a few of them might have been…persuaded. "

The young researcher turned an even paler shade, his eyes huge and dark, shocked. "Tortured?" he breathed.

Malcolm shrugged. "There's some that say no. But I'd guess it happened. Even I don't have access to those files." He stared hard at the boy. "Only a very few files that old Malcom hasn't seen in his long life, if you understand my meaning."

The boy nodded. "They killed them. Didn't they?"

Malcolm sighed. "Every single one. Tribunal all but a sham, and they decreed 'em guilty and took them out at dawn."

The poor researcher looked like paste. He gulped in a few breaths. "All of them?"

"Yep. Eradicated them, as an example, as a way to make sure they weeded it out permanently. "

The researcher blanched.

Malcolm felt sorry for the boy. He had warned him; some things you wished you could unlearn. "Why don't you go get some fresh air--" He peered at the researcher's security badge. "Adam. I'll put this away."

"Thanks." Adam put the symbol back in the box. "I appreciate your help. I…I didn't know, and know I do." He left, vanishing quickly.

Malcolm closed the lid, locking the secrets back inside, and hefted the box slowly back to its position. He probably shouldn't have shown the boy, or told him the story. But what else were such secrets for than to frighten the young ones so they stayed away from their subjects?

He wished he'd been more vociferous when his friend Jack had offered to bring him into the secret society, so many years ago. Malcolm had declined, but he hadn't snitched. But someone had. Maybe Jack would be alive today, if Malcolm had scared him more.

Malcolm shut the door to the Restricted Archives, hearing it lock shut, and started his long shuffling walk back upstairs.

Perhaps he'd managed to save young Adam's life today.


End file.
